


Summer Heat

by EldritchMage



Series: The Angel and the Saint [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Thran's grunge kink, accommodating Bard, so this isn't exactly porn without plot, the guys had to christen that last room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9994547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchMage/pseuds/EldritchMage
Summary: Metal sculptor Bard Bowman and his elite ballet dancer husband Thran Oropherson have reason to celebrate. After long, arduous months of work, Thran's original ballet, "Immortal," has just premiered to high acclaim. Bard's career as a sought-after artist known for his evocative sketches and organic sculptures has also taken off. They have a bright future ahead of them.Thran's only regret is that the demands of creating his ballet has kept him from seeing his husband at work. For eight months, he has waited to see Bard with acetylene torch in hand, welding in a shower of sparks and fire.It's time to end the waiting. But the aftermath might generate sparks and fire of an entirely different sort.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place immediately after the events described in "Season of Light and Shadow." You'll need to read that one for the context of many of the introductory details, but the main action is quite stand-alone and needs no explanation at all, she winked...

The stir over _Immortal_ turned the entire festival week into one long party where very few chores got done. The interest in Thran’s wonderful ballet grew into a frenzy, so much so that extra performances were scheduled for Thursday and Friday. Ori rounded up a video crew to film all four performances so that they’d have the best chance to capture good shots of every scene for the DVD that would soon be produced. Much to Bard’s delight, his husband appeared on one television broadcast after the other to talk about the ballet, national as well as local. Of course, some of the interest was due to Lance’s attack the night before the premiere, but Thran spoke little about that. It wasn’t something the family had processed yet, so he directed attention to the ballet instead.

 _Immortal’s_ good karma rubbed off on Bard; his sketches sold well at the Ilithien Gallery all week, and he gained several new commissions, which made Bilbo ecstatic. Bain and Legolas helped at the festival bicycle race on Friday morning, and Tilda and Bard made a good showing in the father-daughter fun division. Sigrid worked long hours at the bistro, happy that seeing Finn was once again a daily event, and proud of the money she saved towards her college years. Thran spent much of the week resting, given that he had four back-to-back performances from Wednesday through Saturday. It was not a frequency he would have chosen, but the long-term good it did for UVB as well as _Immortal_ was worth the short-term strain.

The short-term strain seemed an even easier sacrifice to make when Ori called to ask Thran what he thought of a run on Broadway. Thran was ecstatic, and Bard was ecstatic for him.

The end of the festival came, the younger children went back to camp, and Sigrid continued at the bistro. They visited Mike in hospital, relieved to see the burly bodyguard well on the way to a full recovery. In between Bard’s sculpture, Thran’s dance, and the children’s camps, the two found time to prowl secondhand shops and salvage shops for the things their home lacked. For the dining room, they found a bigger table, a beautiful set of carved chairs, and the Oushak rug that Thran had visualized. A pair of comfortable chairs arrived for the solarium to complement the fainting couch. They got a frame for the poster the children had drawn on their wedding day, and hung the homegrown masterpiece over the sitting room fireplace. When two new sofas went into the sitting room, Thran’s went upstairs with two plushy armchairs into the children’s study, and Bard’s let them make the rare visit to a secondhand shop with a donation.

The main room finally received its coat of paint, making it the last active room of the house to be renovated. On a rare free weekend, Thran helped Bard paint the walls with a paler amethyst that matched the sofa pillows; gimp in a matching darker amethyst bordered the dining room walls to tie the two rooms and the hall together visually. They got glass for the silver gilt table, and an antique marble mantelpiece arrived to dress up the main room fireplace. Antique lamps with amethyst glass squash globes and pleated silk shades sat atop quirky white ceramic elephant tables to provide soft light for the room. The huge mirror that had made a guest appearance in their garret games received a new coat of silver gilt and descended to its new home in the main room.

Rosie finished two stained glass pieces for the round windows in the center hall, and they found an artist to make the Clan Ffyrnig crest for the front door. Hal gave them the name of an interior designer he loved to help them with draperies. The house was still far from crowded with furniture, but it was beautiful. It had its moments of serenity and quiet, and just as many of boisterous laughter and lively activity.

“It hardly seems possible that the children will start back to school in just over two weeks,” Thran commented as they drove back from dropping Bain, Legolas, and Tilda off for camp.

“The summers always seem to fly by,” Bard observed. “This one’s flown even faster than usual.”

“So much has happened,” Thran mused.

“It’s been busy,” Bard agreed. “Camps are over at the end of this week. Maybe we can do a day trip or two, your schedule allowing.”

“You still want to get me in a small rubber raft to hurtle down a river full of rocks,” Thran shook his head.

“We’ll pick a slow river. Just a day trip, so you’ll be back in our cushy bedroom before bedtime.”

“An absolute requirement. I do not camp.”

Bard snickered at the dancer’s emphatic tone. “Of course. I wish the summer had been longer. I managed to cast Rahmiel, but then so many commissions came in that I haven’t gotten to work much on his companion piece. Maybe once school starts.”

“You have the sketches, but no clay model yet. What have you decided to call it?”

“I’m still thinking about it. Maybe Compassion. Or maybe The Samaritan. People recognize the name and the intent, even if they don’t know all the particulars of the story, so that’d be a good name for the saint who offers compassion to the fallen angel.”

“I hope one day my saint offers compassion to his angel.”

Bard gave Thran a surprised glance. “Oh? In what way?”

Thran’s smile was sly. “I still have not seen you weld, my saint. All those commissions you did this summer... you did all of the welding when I was at the dance. How do I know it was truly you who did it? Ah, I see now... it is a nefarious cover-up. You do _not_ do it yourself.”

“What?” Bard looked at Thran in disbelief. “Then who do you think does it?”

Thran gave him a superior glance, then turned his gaze back to the road. “I think a small Dwarvish smith arrives and does it for you.”

“A small – oh, you do, do you?”

“Of course,” Thran waved an airy hand. “Why else have I not seen it?”

“Because it’s hot, sweaty work, and better to do that as early as I can before the heat gets to be too outrageous.”

“Tcha, you make the excuse. There is a Dwarf, and until I see you weld with my own eyes, you cannot tell me otherwise.”

Bard’s snort was as much laughter as incredulity. “All right, you stubborn Russian. You want to see welding; I’ll show you welding. But don’t complain to me when the barn gets hotter than Satan’s Lair.”

“When we get home?”

“When we get home.”

Thran’s reply was a gleeful chortle that thankfully didn’t distract him from driving the SUV towards home. The sight of such an eminent dancer – soon to appear on Broadway! – snickering like a teenager about to get away with a prank was too funny not to laugh at. Bard was still chuckling when Thran wheeled into the driveway and backed the SUV into the carriage house. No sooner did Bard climb out of the SUV than Thran hurried him to the mudroom door.

“You promised,” Thran said, prodding impatiently as Bard put his key into the lock.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bard protested. “Don’t be such a _suka blyad_ Russian.”

“Don’t you be such an unhurried _ast fwcar_ Welshman. I have waited months to see you weld anything. Go, go, get the keys to the barn.”

“Not yet, impatient one,” Bard corrected as he opened the mudroom door. “I need my gear. What’s more, you need some, too. Heavy jeans, work boots, leave your wedding ring in the box.”

“I hear and obey,” Thran grinned, prodding Bard upstairs. “Now you do the same. Hurry up!”

Bard let his husband rush him up to the bedroom, where he put on his heavy work pants, heavy socks, ratty tee. He put his earrings and his wedding ring in the small, carved box on the children's memory shelf in the study, and shut the lid once Thran had added his ring. He pulled out a bandanna to keep his hair off his face, passing another two to Thran. Thran watched how Bard arranged his, and followed suit with one of the bandannas. He looked in the dresser mirror at their images and grinned.

“We look like pirates.”

“Welcome to the world of construction.”

“What is the other one for?”

“You’ll see when we get into the barn. Oh, grab one of my long-sleeved shirts for yourself. One of the ratty heavy ones.”

“Do you need one?” Thran questioned.

“I’ll have my welding jacket on.”

“Ah. Are we ready now?”

“Almost. The rest of the stuff is in the barn.”

“Then let us go.”

Thran clattered down the stairs. When Bard followed more slowly, Thran rolled his eyes in impatience.

“You look like Sigrid when she’s exasperated.”

“I _am_ exasperated. You drag this out like a soap opera.”

“When did you ever see a soap opera?”

“I am a ballet dancer. The ballet is full of soap operas.”

“Good point. All right, boots on in the mudroom, then out to the barn.”

Once Bard opened the side door to the barn, Thran heaved up the bay door, letting in light and air. Inside was a few degrees cooler than outside, but that would soon change as more air circulated. It would be even hotter once Bard started the torch, but he didn’t mention that to his eager husband. He pointed Thran to the workshop in the back, then climbed up to do his usual set of chin-ups to start the workday.

“ _Suka blyad_ , you do not want me to see your chin-ups, either?” Thran reappeared with arms akimbo to watch Bard heave himself up and down. Bard concentrated on counting the reps, dropped to the crate when he reached thirty, and regarded his husband as he panted from the exertion. “Do you want me to think a Dwarf does those, too?”

“ _You_ know I do them,” Bard panted. “ _I_ know you get randy when you watch me do them. So you have to decide.”

“Decide what? That you are the most exasperating bastard of a husband ever?” Thran waved his hands in dismissal. “I have already decided that.”

Bard climbed down from the crates to stand in front of Thran, mirroring his posture. “Decide whether you want to cart me off to bed now, or watch me weld.”

“Fucker,” Thran growled. “Do not think you will get out of this so easily. Despite your feeble attempt to distract me with chin-ups, I will not be deterred. I will watch you weld.”

“On your head be it.” Bard headed back to the workshop, pulled something off a shelf over the bench, and handed it to Thran. “These are welding goggles. Looking directly at the hot metal or the flame can permanently damage your eyes, so keep them on when the torch is on.”

“All right,” Thran nodded.

Next, Bard handed him a pair of heavy gloves. “These are welding gloves. Sparks burn, so put your shirt on, and stay at least six feet away from me once I start the torch. If a spark hits you, make sure it’s out with the welding gloves. Keep those on, too.”

“All right,” Thran repeated.

Bard got his heavy welding jacket off its hanger, and shrugged it on. Despite how hot it was, he was meticulous about fastening it all the way to the neck. He pointed to Thran’s shirt. “Button it all the way up, angel. Believe it or not, you can get a bad sunburn from the UV radiation this gives off. So that other bandanna I gave you is for you to put over the rest of your face. Tuck it into your shirt collar.”

“Ah, I become the masked avenger.” Thran arranged the second bandanna over his nose, knotted the ends at his nape, and tucked it in as directed, then put his goggles on. “Or some strange steampunk criminal. What will you weld, now that we are properly armored for battle?”

Bard chuckled. “It feels like armor, true enough. I’ll weld the parts of this small Joshua tree together that I cast last week.”

Thran nodded as Bard pointed to the four sections of the tree on his workbench. “Ah. Another tree, like the one you made for Hal? That was a beautiful piece. Is this for him, too?”

“It’s a commission piece, but not for Hal. It’s for a couple who saw my pine tree during the festival.”

“People of exquisite tastes,” Thran shrugged. “So it is in four pieces – the trunk and the top, so this must be the root?”

“Right.” Bard showed Thran how the root section fit with the trunk, then the top branches. “So, the trunk goes into the vice like this, and now I’m ready to get the torch out.”

Thran watched closely as Bard prepped the torch and collected his needed supplies.

“Okay, on with the goggles,” Bard directed. He put his welding helmet on, and lifted the faceplate to peer at Thran. “Just one more thing...”

Thran lifted his goggles to return Bard’s gaze with a questioning look. “Yes?”

“This isn’t construction welding. It’s my art. So I can’t say how fast it’ll go. It may be just a few minutes, or it may be longer. If it gets boring, you won’t offend me if you want to go inside where it’s cooler. Just keep all your gear on until you get outside the barn. I don’t want you to hurt your eyes or catch a spark.”

“You look out for me well, my saint,” Thran’s eyes smiled – with his bandannas on, they were the only visible part of his face. “I will be quiet and not talk to you, and I will fidget outside if I have to. Pay no attention to your steampunk accomplice.”

“Righto,” Bard grinned back. “Okay, on with the gear.”

He waited until Thran lowered his goggles, tucked in his bandanna, and pulled on his gloves. Then he drew on his gloves, lowered his mask, and took up his torch.

He forgot about Thran as he worked to attach the section of roots to the trunk. He’d hidden the seam vertically along the lowest section of the trunk, but it still took delicate precision to make sure that the seam wasn’t obvious. Yes, he’d polish the result after it cooled, but it was better to take pains now and not have to erase any misstep during polishing. That went quickly; given all the practice he’d had this summer, he’d become comfortable with his techniques, and his steady hand meant smoother joins. On to the branches – they slotted into the top of the trunk. The first was the easy one, but it had to leave enough room for the second; if it didn’t, redoing the first meant more residual bits to remove, and possibly a blurring of the trunk’s details. When he got to the second branch, he had a second of dismay when it looked as if he hadn’t left quite enough room, but with a little elbow grease and coaxing, he made room, and the second piece slipped into place. He gave a last touch of the torch, and the piece was complete.

With a satisfied exhale, he turned off the torch, and pulled up his mask. Thran was still in the barn, as close as he could get and still maintain a safe distance away.

“Still believe in the Dwarf?” Bard challenged, as he pulled off his helmet.

“I can take off the goggles now?”

“Absolutely.”

Thran pulled off his goggles, his bandannas, and Bard’s old shirt. His tee underneath was soaked in sweat, but his face revealed a delighted smile. “That was amazing, Bard! You work so quickly, and look at your wonderful tree – it looks just like a real one, only smaller! You are amazing!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Bard made a silly bow in his jacket with his mask tucked under his arm. He hung the mask up, and carefully removed his tree from the vice to set it on the workbench to cool. Only then did he remove his gloves and unfasten his welding jacket with a sigh of relief.

“Gods, it’s almost too hot to do this.” He slipped the jacket off and hung it up. His sodden tee clung to his body like an unwelcome second skin, so he wasted no time in pulling it off. “What time is it? It couldn’t be much after eleven.”

Thran pulled out his mobile, but it wasn’t to check the time. Before Bard could flinch, Thran had snapped his picture. As he studied it, a predatory smile crossed his face.

“Gods, Thran – give a man some warning.”

“If you insist, though it will spoil the surprise. So be it. I am about to drag your very fine ass into the house and desecrate it on the cool marble floor in the half bath.”

“Thran –”

“You say that it is much too hot to weld, but I say that you are much too hot for me to resist. You will not stop me.”

“Whatever happened to proving that I do my own welding, and not some mythical Dwarf?”

“You have proved that to my satisfaction. Now I will prove to your satisfaction that you filthy and sodden is nothing my grunge kink can resist.”

“Oh, hell, Thran,” Bard growled, as he dodged around Thran and sprinted for the mudroom. With a Russian curse as his battle cry, Thran sprinted after him, but Bard got through the door before his husband reached him. He ducked behind the door before Thran bounded through it, then slammed it shut and locked it after his husband. Hearing Bard behind him, Thran skittered to a stop, just the pause Bard needed to throw his arms around Thran’s waist.

“Got you, you fucker,” Bard grunted, wrestling Thran against his chest. “You wanted welder, you got welder. Now you want grunge kink? I’ll give you grunge kink!”

“Ooh, even better than I had hoped,” Thran chortled as Bard hauled him through the kitchen and the sitting room. When Bard loosed one hand to jerk open the half bath door, Thran took advantage to peel off his tee shirt. “Yes, yes, do your worst!”

Bard groped for the light switch, but Thran was already crowding him into the half bath, pressing him against the door, grinding their hips together, scraping eager fingers down his sweaty chest. He flinched when nails dragged over his nipples.

“Ouch, you fucker! If you pull them out by the roots, then neither of us will have them to play with later!”

“Make me stop,” Thran challenged. “Either take me, or I will take you. I will not be gentle.”

“You’re the one with the grunge kink,” Bard growled, grabbing Thran’s wrists and wrestling him around until Thran’s back pressed hard against his chest. He groped for Thran’s belt buckle, the button to his jeans, the zipper. When he’d breached them all, he jerked jeans and underwear off Thran’s hips and shoved him down on his hands and knees. He kept Thran in position with a knee on Thran’s hips until he could get his own jeans open. Oh, shit, what was he going to do about lube? The nearest thing was coconut oil in the kitchen –

A tube of the stuff was stashed on the side of the sink.

Thran had set him up.

“You fucker,” Bard swore, but availed himself of the stuff nevertheless. He slicked himself quickly, for Thran was already shoving his hips back and moaning. Bard slid in – gods, Thran was open and ready, another sign that he’d set Bard up – and fell over Thran’s back with a groan. Maybe his husband had set him up, but Bard would enjoy it, nevertheless.

“Oh, gods, you are huge, you will kill me with that cock of yours,” Thran gasped, but for all his protests, he pushed back until Bard was fully within. “ _Ty grebanyy huiesos, ty zastavlyayesh' menya priyti..._ ”

“If that means you like being on the end of my cock, good, you bastard,” Bard snarled, getting into Thran’s fantasy. “If not, too fucking bad. You feel too good for me to stop.”

“ _Idi na khuy,_ you are the fucking bastard... _oy, chert!_ ” Thran panted, speeding up his thrusts backwards. Bard kept time, grinning at his husband’s fractured curses as his arousal turned frantic. To help him along, Bard wound Thran’s long white braid around his hand to pull his head up, and leaned hard over his back. For the coup de grace, he snaked his other hand around to grab Thran’s cock and manhandle it mercilessly.

“Gods, you’re such a sweet fuck, pretty angel, all hot and sweaty. Tell me how much you like it.”

“Oh, gods, you have me, you have me, you are such an animal –”

When Thran tensed beneath him, Bard bared his teeth to bite him hard, right over his shoulder blade. The shock was the last push Thran needed to spasm in release. His moan turned into a shriek, and he tightened so hard around Bard’s cock that Bard followed his husband right after. Gods, the rush of pleasure that raced from his cock to every cell of his body was overwhelming, all consuming, bliss. He worked it thoroughly until he was completely spent, letting Thran bear his full weight, then he rolled off to lie flat on the cool marble tile.

“You have trashed me,” Thran panted, flattening himself over his knees to lay his forehead on the tile.

“You’re welcome,” Bard graveled. He shut his eyes, took a long, deep breath, and let a smile spread over his lips at the curse that met his unrepentant reply. “How’s the kink now?”

“You fed it well.” Thran breathed in deeply, then let it out before he sat up. “ _Chert_. See what happens when I want to have you on the marble.”

Bard enjoyed the cool tile on his overheated skin. “See what happens when you set me up to do just what you wanted me to do, you bastard. Not that I’m complaining. You’re cute when you’re filthy.”

Thran made his patented come-fuck-me eyes at Bard, and leaned forward to kiss him. “And you,” he purred, “are delicious.”

“Are you going to get this turned on this every time you’re home when I weld?”

“If you are very, very good, yes.”

Bard grinned. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll head back out to the barn.”

“I can only hope,” Thran sighed.

They helped each other up, and went upstairs to the welcome relief of a cool shower.


End file.
